


The Man Who Walked Between the Worlds

by Macremae



Category: EOS 10 (Podcast)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Haunting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, ghost au, more specifically ryan is a ghost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2018-10-25 20:46:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10772118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/pseuds/Macremae
Summary: 'Cause I've done some things that I can't speakAnd I tried to wash you away, but you just won't leaveSo won't you take a breath and dive in deep?'Cause I came here so you'd come for meThere is a ghost in the cargo bay of EOS 10, and he'd really just like to be left alone, thank you very much.There is a smuggler in the cargo bay of EOS 10, and he has a goddamn job to do.There is very little chance of this ending well.





	1. Chapter 1

“Get out.”

The moment Akmazian hears the first sound of an unfamiliar voice, he spins around, gun already aimed in front of him. He’s always been on edge the first few hours in a new hideout, and this cargo bay is particularly dangerous, especially with the location. Too many close calls have trained his reflexes to be a little faster than normal in a situation like this, and the basement of an intergalactic travel hub is certainly no exception.

The intruder, however, is.

It’s a man, that much is clear. He’s short, yet willowy, with huge dark eyes staring angrily at Akmazian from behind a pair of glasses, and the most freckles he’s ever seen on one person. He’s wearing a labcoat and what looks to be a station uniform; _maybe a doctor?_ he thinks. Akmazian certainly hadn’t noticed him before, and it’s a miracle he could have sneaked up on him with all the crewmembers he’s stationed around the bay.

In all, the man looks rather normal, except for two things. The first is the shock of soft pink hair falling into his eyes, which is not a color normally seen on a (assumedly) human. The second, is a bit harder to describe. There’s a strange… almost smudgeness about him, like he doesn’t quite fit into the world around him. He seems blurred around the edges, and tired in a way that doesn’t sit right at all.

“Who the hell,” says Akmazian, narrowing his eyes at the stranger, “are you.”

The idiot is completely unaffected by this, and rolls his eyes like he doesn’t have a gun pointed squarely at his face. “Are you deaf?” he says annoyedly, “Because I can do this in sign language if you want. Get. Out.” 

Whether to be helpful or cheeky, Akmazian can’t tell, he signs his message when he repeats it the second time. 

“I wouldn’t be so testy if I were y’all,” he says dangerously. “Now who the hell are you?”

The stranger cocks his head in a way that would be kind of cute, if he weren’t currently the stupidest person alive. “Are- are you seriously not listening to me? They usually leave a lot faster than this, what’s your problem?” He eyes the gun with disdain. “Oh, great, and you’re a smuggler too; this is exactly what I need today! Please leave.”

Akmazian blinks in surprise at the strangely coded language, but holds his ground. “If y’all know what I am, then I’d suggest bein’ a lot more careful with your requests.”

His frown deepens in response, and he crosses his arms, moving a little closer. “This isn’t a request, _garçon_. It’s an order, and you really don’t want to see the next step up the ladder.”

Akmazian nearly laughs at this. Who does this guy think he is? Hell, how has he not recognized him by this point? He chuckles just a bit, to throw the stranger off guard. “It sounds a hell of a lot like a threat to me.”

“Maybe it is.”

This time, it’s Akmazian’s turn to step closer. “I’m pretty sure a man in your position ain’t one to be making threats, doc.”

“Why not?” he shoots back, “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Not a good thing to say with a gun to your head.”

Without warning, the frown on the stranger’s face morphs into a smirk (that is surprisingly attractive, but this really isn’t the time). “Oh really? Okay then. Shoot me.”

Despite himself, a look of bewilderment flashes across Akmazian’s face. “What?”

The man shrugs. “You heard me. You think you’re someone to be scared of? Shoot me.”

Akmazian really, _really_ doesn’t like killing people. Not just on principle, but because his mama said that abuela was always watching, and he’s seen nothing to disprove that theory. It’s a family thing. The woman was scary. Shut up.

All that aside, this piece of crazy, cute as he is, is really a liability when it all comes down to it. The one thing doctors hate more than people who don’t vaccinate their kids, is people who have the ability to shoot those kids with guns (and a broken coffee maker, but that's beside the point). The safety of his crew far outweighs one scruffy little medical officer, so Akmazian sends up a quick prayer for forgiveness, and pulls the trigger.

The bullet goes right through him.

Not in a “right through the brain and there’s blood everywhere” sort of way. No, this is more like, “the bullet literally went right through him as if he were nothing at all”.

As if he were a ghost.

Looking far too pleased with the shocked expression on Akmazian’s face, the stranger leans in. “Like I said,” he continues, “I’m not afraid of you. But you…” He mock-considers this for a moment, and then, as if this situation couldn’t get any more unsettling, his eyes flicker pure black. 

“I think you should be very afraid of me.”

And just like that, he disappears.


	2. Chapter 2

Akmazian believes in ghosts.

He sort of has to. His culture has an entire holiday specifically dedicated to the idea that the spirits of his ancestors visit the earth for one day each year, depending on their age.

So, when a man appears out of nowhere, takes a bullet like it’s nothing, and then disappears after giving an (admittedly really hot) speech about fucking off, Akmazian takes that as evidence in itself.

The problem he faces is that he needs this ghost out, and out now. Usually he would call his family for culture-related things like this, but they think he’s either dead, a terrorist, or innocent and hiding (most likely the latter, since his papa saw him burst into tears once after accidentally stepping on an ant). There is, however, another option, and his name is Carlos Ramon.

He’s one of Akmazian’s crew, and, in simple terms, an “OG Mexican”. The only problem is going to be explaining that there is a ghost haunting the cargo bay, and Akmazian is not insane.

He goes for the simple approach. 

“There’s a ghost haunting the cargo bay, and I’m not insane,” Akmazian says. Ramon gives him a quizzical look, before bluntly replying, “Okay.”

“I don’t think he likes me.”

“That is not a difficult opinion to have, sir. The galaxy does not like you.”

Akmazian gives him a look. Ramon unpacks crates, and is wholly unimpressed. 

He sighs. “Alright, fine, but he’s gonna be trouble when we start doing business here. You got any ideas?”

Ramon shrugs. “It’s kind of your fault, boss. We’ve intruded on his sacred space, and now we’ve set up an illegal smuggling operation here. From what I can guess, he worked on this station, and probably wouldn’t be a fan of you.”

“I figured that, yeah. We can’t really afford to be selfish here, though, so how can we get him out, and fast?”

“Well,” Ramon thinks, setting down a crate to muse, “the quickest and most lucrative option would be to help him make peace with whatever is holding him here, which would allow him to move on to another plane of existence. However, that would require asking how he died, which severely complicates things.”

“How come? Isn’t asking how a ghost died, like, real flattering?”

Ramon shakes his head. “No, sir, asking a spirit how they died is like asking someone dying of Space AIDS who slipped them the virus. It’s incredibly impolite.”

“Ah.” Akmazian ponders this for a moment, and then decides that he doesn’t care. “I’ve decided I don’t care,” he says.

With another shrug of his shoulders, Ramon once again cedes to his boss’s pattern of Very Poor Ideas. “If he kills you, I’m in command, right?”

“That’s Keisha, Ramon. Nice try.”

As Akmazian walks off to go piss of a ghost, Ramon grumbles something about being named a godfather leading to favoritism, and briefly considers mutiny.

\--

As it turns out, summoning a ghost who is mad at you is surprisingly easy. Akmazian stands in one of the more vacant areas of the bay, and puts up his middle finger at nothing in particular.

He gets a response pretty quickly, in the form of a lightning-esque crack that blinds him for a few seconds, and a vindicated little laugh that sounds ironically sweet and adorable.

Which gives Akmazian an idea.

Threats did not work. Agitation did not work. Shooting off his blaster into the air around him probably isn’t going to work either.

But if there’s one thing Akmazian knows how to do, it’s read people, and read them well. And from the once-over he was able to give the ghost, he can come up with a pretty good idea of what’ll get him to come out of hiding.

So, Akmazian takes his shirt off.

To be more precise, he takes his shirt off, leans back against the bay wall, and begins smoking a cigarette in the sexiest way possible.

Against literally all logic, it works. After about a minute or so, the ghost flickers into existence, looking both nonplussed, and a little pink around the ears. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he hisses, this time choosing to float about halfway to the ceiling. 

Akmazian waits a moment, before looking up at him with an eyebrow raised, making sure there’s a cloud of smoke around him for added effect. “Well hey there, darlin’,” he drawls, “nice of y’all to finally show up.”

The ghost turns pinker. “One,” he says, “don’t call me that. Two, I thought I told you to leave.”

“Silly thing to tell a man who doesn’t even follow the law, hon.”

“Don’t call me that either. And put your freaking shirt on.”

“Well then what should I call you?” Akmazian says, lowering his cigarette and holding it in a ladylike fashion. He has no intentions of replacing his shirt.

The ghost opens his mouth to retort, but closes it and sighs. “Fine. Dr. Dalias.”

Akmazian gives him a crooked smile. “Your parents named you ‘Doctor’?”

“Right, because that’s so much better than ‘Akmazian’,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “And no… my first name is Ryan, but that’s not a level you’re going to reach anytime soon.”

“Somethin’ to look forward to then.”

Dalias shoots him a glare, but floats down a little closer. “Why in God’s name _is_ your shirt off? I thought it was cold down here.”

It is- freezing in fact- but Akmazian isn’t going to give him that victory. Instead, he flicks his eyebrows up and down. “I provide my own heat.”

“That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard,” Ryan says flatly. “And I’m guessing you’re human, so no, you don’t.”

“Actually I’m one-sixty-fourth Centaurion on my mother’s side.”

“Uh huh.”

Akmazian shrugs. “So… you come here often?”

“I died here.”

“How’d that happen?”

“Like I’d tell you.”

“‘Course, cause y’all’ve got so many other things worth doing.”

Dalias’ shoulders tense up at this, and his form almost seems to spark at the edges. “I do, actually, and you’re not one of them.”

Akmazian smiles at the other man for taking the bait, and gives him a shameless wink. “I could be.”

It takes Dalias a split second to connect the dots, turning a brilliant shade of red when he does, and promptly blinks out of existence with a loud pop. Akmazian feels a rush of cold air, but he’s too busy laughing his damn ass off to care.

This is a hell of a lot more fun than he thought.


	3. Chapter 3

Annoying a ghost is fun. _Flirting_ with one is even moreso, especially if said ghost is cute.

Over the next week or so, Akmazian splits his time between business as usual, researching how to remove ghosts from unwanted places, and hitting on Dr. Dalias as if his life depended on it. Which, it kind of does. Hauntings are bad for business, and Akmazian has himself and his crew to take care of. There’s a job on the line; a big one. If he can’t annoy Dalias away, he’ll sure as hell try to sweeten him up a bit.

The results are… interesting.

At first, Dalias makes it clear he wants nothing to do with him. Every time he appears, it’s with a look of weary disdain, as if Akmazian’s presence was draining him of both his patience and energy. The visitation is usually followed by a customary order to leave, which they both know never has, and never will work. It’s cute that he tries though.

After that, Akmazian will try to strike up a conversation. Most of the time he’ll get lucky and Dalias will be in the mood to talk. Considering how long Akmazian suspects he’s been dead, the man is more than likely pretty lonely, and he plans to use this to his advantage. They’ll talk; Dalias will try to pry about what exactly Akmazian is doing on the station, and in turn he’ll ask about Dalias’ death. Neither man is very successful, but somehow it’s not as annoying as Akmazian might have thought. 

Things always inevitably end with him leading Dalias into an innuendo-filled trap, and the ghost poofing out of existence, at first with embarrassment, then later with annoyance. Neither ever makes a move to act on said innuendos, although Akmazian wouldn’t have a clue of the logistics anyway. Dalias is pretty obviously translucent, and doesn’t seem to have any solid form to speak of.

Not that Akmazian hasn’t thought about it, though.

That’s actually become a bit of a problem recently. Akmazian has grown more than a little fond of Dalias, to the point where he finds himself thinking of the ghost even when he doesn’t seem to be around. 

And listen, Akmazian has always been a sucker for a pretty face. It’s an amicable vice of his, and he’s nowhere near ashamed of it. The problem is… well, the problem is that Dalias _is_ a pretty face. Very pretty in fact, with big, dark eyes and a smile that, when Akmazian gets the rare opportunity to see it, could make flowers grow on an icecap. When he’s frustrated, his face scrunches up in a way that is just _adorable_ , and embarrassment causes a beautiful pink flush to spread from the tips of his ears to his neck, and possibly below.

At one point, Akmazian says something that actually makes him laugh, and a strange, sunshine-y feeling wraps itself around his heart.

Scratch that: this is a very big problem.

Akmazian might be a little bit in love with Dr. Dalias.

And that’s fine, that’s great, whatever. Akmazian’s had crushes before, and he’s not expecting this to go anywhere. But Dalias is somehow… different. He’s wholly unimpressed with every trick of Akmazian’s that usually works, and instead fires skepticism and wit back at him that makes Akmazian feel very fluttery inside. He’s feisty and curious and notices the strangest little things about the universe. He makes Akmazian feel… things. Things he hasn’t felt in a good, long while.

Dalias meets the crew, of course, because there’s no time for secrets when you’re on the run. He and Ramon hit it off almost immediately, both in agreement at the utter ridiculousness of the man who introduced them. Keisha, once an aspiring doctor before a lawsuit dashed that dream, picks his brain for everything she can (Dalias is very cute when he’s excited and Akmazian is very screwed so it’s been a good day, thanks Watson, maybe eat a dick or seven). Cricker is drawn out of his shell eventually, and Watson… well Watson is a stupid, nosy asshole who can stop flirting and maybe choke while he’s at it.

Even so, Akmazian still feels a palpable wall between him and the ghost, even if it seems to be slowly softening a bit. But he flirts and he tries, and he falls a little more in love each day.

And maybe Dalias does too.

Because. Because one day they’re sitting in the ship’s library, oddly peaceful for once. Akmazian is on the battered old couch, reading from an old Earth book about victorian egos and judging people. At one point, Dalias had shimmered into existence and wordlessly joined, sitting just close enough to make Akmazian’s heart race. He had begun reading aloud, keeping his tone smooth and even despite the violently humming feeling in his chest.

And then, without warning, Dalias had put his head on his shoulder.

Akmazian notices three things. One: Dalias apparently can be solid when he wants to, which is extremely valuable information. Two: he is surprisingly warm for a ghost. Still cool, of course, but not uncomfortably so. Three: Dalias is a very nice person to have leaning against you. He’s soft, with no bony elbows or shoulders to get in the way, and fluffy hair that smells like coffee and rain. 

Akmazian waits more than a good several minutes, quietly savoring the warmth provided by both the man next to him, and swirling in his stomach. Then, carefully (oh so carefully) he puts a tentative arm around him. 

He feels Dalias stiffen for a moment, and braces for the inevitable yelling and embarrassment.  
He’s then pretty surprised when Dalias lets out a small, shaky sigh, and moves a little closer, tilting his head into the crook of Akmazian’s arm. 

Akmazian is having a fucking stroke.

He turns to look down at Dalias, and freezes when he realises the ghost is looking up at him. His eyes are wide and almost shining, and his mouth is open just a little. Akmazian can’t stop looking at his lips. 

“Dalias,” he says softly, almost nothing at all. The ghost swallows, and Akmazian watches his adam’s apple bob with an intensity he feels in his gaze and chest. 

“Ryan,” he says, and bites his lip for half a moment. Akmazian can almost feel himself burning. “Call me Ryan. Please.”

Their faces are so close, Akmazian can feel Dali- no, _Ryan’s_ breath. “Ryan,” he breathes. He won’t move first, though; he can’t spook Ryan, he can’t mess this up, he can’t-

Ryan is kissing him. 

Ryan is kissing him and _oh_ , it’s so eternally better than he imagined. It begins gently, both hoping the other doesn’t pull away, but at the same time afraid to push too far. Then, Ryan tilts his head for a better angle, and it becomes hungry; touch-starved and needy, with roving hands and clacking teeth. Ryan pushes him down onto the couch with surprising strength, and Akmazian makes a noise that’s halfway between surprise and a moan. At it, Ryan quickly sits up, halfway straddling him.

“A- are you okay? Was that bad?” he says nervously, face flushed and lips swollen and enrapturing. In response, Akmazian pulls him down into another kiss, threading his hands through his hair. He tugs a little, and Ryan keens unmistakably, digging his nails into Akmazian’s (now very bare) shoulder. He shifts backwards, and Akmazian’s hips jerk upwards at the friction.

Ryan breaks the kiss after several more moments, sitting up and splaying his hands on Akmazian’s chest. He opens his mouth for a moment, then closes it before looking down at his hands and mumbling something. Akmazian. “What?” he asks.

Ryan shakes his head. “Nothing. Do… do you, um… want to… y’know?”

Akmazian’s eyes grow wide when he realizes what Ryan is suggesting, and quickly nods. “God, yes.”

A small, yet almost hungry smile comes over Ryan’s face. His form seems to shimmer, and suddenly, he’s very naked, and kissing Akmazian again like a dying man.

This was _not_ part of the original plan at all.


	4. Chapter 4

After what Watson had cheerfully dubbed “The Time Our Boss Fucked A Dead Guy In the Library” (the necrophilia jokes were _endless_ ), Akmazian had hoped he and Ryan had reached some form of agreement. Granted, gratuitous, semi-corporeal sex wasn't exactly a peace talk, but it certainly had to count for something, right?

Apparently not.

Ryan doesn't appear for two days afterward, although Akmazian assumes that holding a solid form for so long has just taken a lot out of him. He goes about business as usual; his crew is here for a reason, after all. During a meeting with a Haevan crystal supplier, he could swear he feels a cool breeze rush by him, smelling faintly of warm cotton and rain, but Ryan still remains invisible.

Finally, while filling out the monthly budget report in his quarters, Akmazian hears a faint whooshing sound followed by a pop. He raises his head to see Ryan floating before him, his face closed off and unreadable.

Akmazian smiles. “Well look who decided to show up after all. I was getting worried about you, darlin’”

Ryan frowns at this, and looks away. “That was pretty stupid of you,” he says quietly, “I’m a ghost. It's not like I could get hurt.”

“I missed you, though,” Akmazian replies, twirling the pen around in his fingers. “It gets pretty cold down here. And lonely.”

“You have a crew for that.”

“Y’all know what I mean.”

“I don't, but, y’know. Whatever.”

Akmazian raises an eyebrow and frowns. “Something wrong, darlin’?”

Ryan tenses. “Don't call me that.”

“What?”

“I said, don't call me that!” he snaps, and Akmazian’s desk lamp rattles dangerously. He quickly reaches out and steadies it, before getting up and moving towards Ryan.

“What's going on here? Last time I saw you, you seemed fine. Did something happen? Are you okay?” Akmazian asks worriedly. Ryan shakes his head, biting down fiercely on his lip. 

“I just- this was a mistake.”

“What?”

“You!” Ryan exclaims, his form sparking at the edges. “You were never supposed to- to be like this! All stupid and smiling, and pretending to come in and- and- and mess with my head! And I knew I shouldn't get involved with everything because you're a freaking terrorist for Christ’s sake, and you're just trying to get me to leave, anyway, but I did, and that was _such_ a bad idea!”

Akmazian feels a stab of hurt pierce his chest. “You- you thought what we did was a bad idea?”

“Yes! I mean, I just said you're just going to leave at some point anyway, and it's not like it meant anything!”

Anger boils in Akmazian’s stomach, and he clenches his fists. “Well it sure as hell meant something to me.”

Ryan scowls at him, his form flickering even more. “God, will you just stop that?”

“Stop what?”

“Playing with me!” he shouts, throwing his hands in the air. “Messing with my head, acting like it's just some game!”

“Who the hell ever said this was a game?” Akmazian says, his voice breaking a little. 

Ryan freezes, his eyes widening and pupils shrinking. The room suddenly seems colder, a chill creeping into the air. His mouth hangs open, and there seems to be a very prominent sort of “glitch” flickering through his chest. His whole body tenses up, and at first Akmazian thinks it's just from shock. He sighs angrily, rubbing his forehead and pointedly not looking at Ryan. The ghost has probably disappeared by now anyway.

A small choking sound coming from in front of him startles Akmazian out of his thoughts. He looks up warily, before his expression quickly changes to one of concern.

Ryan is curled in on himself, his body like an old TV on the fritz. Static seems to run up and down his form, coming off in frantic sparks. He’s shaking violently, panicked, painful gasps escaping from his mouth. His lips have turned bright blue, and his eyes are bloodshot and far too dull. 

“Ryan?” Akmazian says worriedly, “what's happening- what's wrong?”

Ryan’s gaze flicks over to him, and he shakes his head weakly. Through his ragged breathing, he chokes out, “I- no… you need to- you need to get back.”

Akmazian rushes forward, reaching out to touch him. “No, what's happening to you? What can I do?”

Ryan jerks back from Akmazian’s hand, his body now convulsing wildly. “G- go!” he managed.

At last, Akmazian does as he’s told, backing away until he's behind his desk and up against the wall. Ryan cries out in pain, shaking violently as the blue coloring spread to the rest of his body. His face flushes, turning purple, and he gives one final gasp before falling silent. His body becomes still for a few seconds before flickering out of existence once more.

Akmazian breathes a shaky sigh of relief that it's finally over, his chest tightening with worry. He cautiously makes his way out from behind his desk, glancing around the room for any signs of the ghost.

“Ryan?” he says out loud, stomach twisting into knots. All of his anger is gone, replaced by fear and utter confusion over what had just happened.

Well, not exactly.

As a principle, the crew of the Silent Storm doesn't smuggle drugs. Vital pharmaceuticals like Tylenol and Vegadrill are the exception, but in general, Akmazian tries to keep his hands clean in that area of illegal activity. He had seen what things like Razorside and Starlight Heroin could do to people, and he and his crew unanimously agreed to never be a part of that. 

That didn't mean he didn't know what an overdose looked like.

The shaking, asphyxiation, stomach pains, and blue coloration all pointed to one thing: Lethonal. It was a pretty popular drug among seasoned addicts, producing a state of euphoric calm and warmth throughout the body. However, if not produced purely, it could lead to a fast and incredibly painful death that caused the body to decompose twice as fast.

A death that, apparently, Ryan had experienced.

After several minutes of deathly quiet, Ryan appears again. He looks unnervingly normal, his skin its usual warm brown color, and form steady and solid-looking. His shoulders are drawn and he refuses to meet Akmazian’s eyes, instead floating over to slump against the wall of the room.

Carefully, so as not to spook him, Akmazian walks over and sits down next to him. He waits about a minute more before speaking.

“Are you alright?” he asks quietly. Ryan lets out a short, bitter laugh.

“Yes. No. I don't know. Sometimes that happens.”

“What does?”

“My death. I’ll be just… I don't know, sitting around, and suddenly I'm dying all over again.” Ryan sighs tiredly. “You get used to it.”

“Didn't look very pretty to me,” Akmazian notes. Ryan nods. 

“Doesn't feel too great either. Sorry if- if it freaked you out.”

Akmazian studies the floor for a long time, before asking, “Ryan? How did you die?”

Ryan looks at him wearily, his blue eyes seeming almost faded. “You seem like you have an idea,” he says.

“Lethonal isn’t exactly easy to get, I hear.”

“It's easy when you live on an intergalactic travel hub filled with millions of people. Just about anything is, really.”

“So’s help.”

Ryan snorts and pokes a finger into the floor’s grating. “God. Do you honestly think that's how it works?”

“I think I'd have a better idea if you explained it to me. Weren't y'all a doctor when you were… when you were alive?”

“That's the point,” Ryan says, letting his finger pass through the floor entirely. “When I was at school there was this… this accident. I was stuck in the hospital for a while, and by the time I got out it was too late.

“I got help eventually, because people start to notice if you show up to surgery demos high as fuck, and for a while, things were okay, I guess. I still went back to med school, because why make things easy for myself, and I got transferred here. Worked as a doctor. Saved some lives, or whatever. Normal, ‘I'm an adult who can handle things like a healthy person’ stuff.”

He glances at Akmazian, who says, “So what happened?”

Ryan sighs again and runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck, I don't know. One day, apparently, a bad shipment came through the black market, and we got all these kids. They had overdosed or gotten impure samples, or were just having a really bad reaction. It didn't matter. In a couple hours they were all…” He swallows and takes a shaky breath. “They were all dead. There was nothing any of us could do.”

Akmazian doesn't move. “I'm sorry.”

Ryan shakes his head. “It wasn't fair. They were just- they were just fucking kids! They didn't ask for it. They didn't ask to die. And I got so mad, too; I couldn't breathe, and my hands wouldn't stop shaking. We had a sample of the drug in for testing, and everyone was busy with the kids, so…”

“You came down here,” Akmazian finishes, “and died.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says. 

He's silent for a long time, and Akmazian feels the lump in his chest grow bigger and bigger, until it feels like he's about to burst. He looks and looks and looks at Ryan, but the pieces still don't seem to add up. He just can’t picture this man, this soft, spirited, beautiful man, doing any of those things.

He thinks this might be what it's like to die alive.

Finally, still not looking at him, Ryan says dully, “Tell me it wasn't you.”

Akmazian is silent at this, the request for clarification unspoken. Ryan takes a deep breath and continues. “Tell me you and your crew weren't the ones who brought those drugs on station.”

Vehemently, Akmazian shakes his head. “No,” he says firmly, “we deal in a lot of things, but never that. None of us want that on our hands.”

Ryan nods, and his shoulders seem to relax the tiniest bit. Akmazian can tell that the question had been bothering him for a long time, and he had been prepared for a very different answer. Slowly, he reaches out a hand and and rests is gently on Ryan's shoulder. Solid, for now.

He disappears soon after.


	5. Chapter 5

Several days later, Ryan appears again, a new look of determination on his face.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” he says, “but I think I’ve figured out how I can leave.”

Akmazian looks up from where he’s sharpening the kitchen’s knives. He’d missed Ryan, dearly in fact, but couldn’t help feeling disappointed that this was the first thing he chose to say. Had things really gone that badly?

“I promise, I’m not mad at you,” Ryan says pacifyingly, as if reading his mind. “I- I appreciate everything you’ve done for me; I really have. But…” he looks away, “being a ghost isn’t… it’s not like you see in fiction. There isn’t anything good or exciting about it. It’s lonely and frightening, and… I just kind of want to move on.”

Swallowing hard, Akmazian nods. He can feel his heart breaking in two, but he nods. “If there’s anything I can do to help, you let me know.”

“Actually, that’s why I’m asking. See, there’s this doctor who works in the infirmary. He came in a little while after I left. And, I think- I think he could use my help.”

\--

Akmazian’s heard a lot of terrible ideas before, but this one really hits the mark. Damn Ryan and his pretty face.

Cursing his own weakness for the spirit, Akmazian wriggles further down the ventilation shaft, pushing himself towards the grate a few yards away. Beneath him, he can hear the typical sounds of an infirmary: machines, pharmaceuticals, obnoxious patients, and a very overworked coffee maker. It’s the kind of place he can absolutely imagine Ryan working.

With a grunt, he shoves himself forward, crawling the last few feet to the opening. Looking down through the slats, he sees a nondescript-looking office, empty except for one person.

It’s a man, old and scruffy with rumpled scrubs, yet neatly clipped silver hair. He’s scribbling something down on a stack of paperwork, with what looks to be an entire bottle of vodka on his desk next to him. From the quality of his penmanship, he is very obviously drunk.

Which probably explains why he doesn’t immediately freak out when Ryan materializes in front of him. 

“Um,” says Ryan awkwardly, “hi.”

Without looking up, the man curtly replies, “Go away.”

“Yeah, uh, here’s the thing: I can’t.”

“Well not with that attitude.”

“You’re not taking this as seriously as I thought you would.”

“I imagine I am much more intoxicated that you planned.”

“No, you’re just about there.”

For the first time since the conversation’s start, the man looks up. Ryan’s eyes flash bright white, and his whole body flickers. He is also floating about a foot above the ground. “Hi,” he says, “you must be Dr. Urvidian. I’m Ryan.”

Urvidian blinks. “On second thought, it appears I am much more intoxicated than we both planned.”

“Yeah,” says Ryan, “no kidding. Now, let’s discuss your options.”

“You are a floating human being,” Urvidian says blankly. Ryan nods.

“Correct. No, I am not a hallucination. Yes this is actually happening. No, no one is being pranked right now.”

Urvidian opens his mouth, most likely to call for security, but Ryan cuts in, “I’m only making myself visible to you right now. If anyone else comes in, they’ll think you're just being crazy and talking to yourself like a madman. Do you _really_ need your reputation going further down the drain?”

Urvidian closes his mouth. Crossing his arms, he says, “So what are you. A virus invading our interface? If so, you’re very clever; most can’t even manage a simple projection.”

“I’m not a virus,” Ryan explains, “I’m a ghost.”

“That is impossible.”

“You’re a man with a blood alcohol content of about point-two percent who’s somehow not dead from kidney failure, and _you’re_ telling _me_ what’s impossible? Also,” he says, answering Urvidian’s raised eyebrow of a question, “I saw you test yourself earlier, so don’t give me that. How are you still alive?”

Urvidian huffs. “I would ask you the same question, but it appears you’re not. Do you honestly expect me, a man of science and logic, to believe that such things as ghosts and spirits exist?”

“Seeing as the alternative is that you’ve gone certifiably insane, yeah, pretty much.”

Scowling, Urvidian is pretty much at an impasse. “Alright fine. So you do exist. What exactly do you want me to do about it?”

Ryan smiles nervously. “Letting me help you get sober would be a great start.”

He flinches as Urvidian lets out a guffaw. “Are you serious? No. No, I refuse to be ordered around for some two-bit spirit who’s barged into my office without precedent, and I certainly won’t be tackling sobriety any time soon. Give me one reason why I should listen to you.”

“Well,” says Ryan, “if you don’t, I’ll destroy every last container of alcohol you try to touch, until you die of withdrawal.”

Urvidian’s eyes widen. “I don’t believe you.”

“Oh really?” Ryan’s eyes flicker black, and he smiles wickedly. Several objects in the room begin to rattle. “Try me.”

\--

The next day, the latest gossip going around station is that Dr. Urvidian was hanging off the edge of the promenade, about to fall to his timely death, until a mysterious and unseen force pulled him to safety.

In other news, Ryan is gone for most of the morning, and spends the rest of the day in a truly horrible mood.

\--

“Boss?” says Cricker quietly a few weeks later, sliding into the copilot seat. “I- uh- I don’t want to be a bother, but-”

“Spit it out, Cricker, you know I don’t bite.”

“Well- uh, I was just wondering,” he stutters, “when are we going to leave?”

Oh. Akmazian hadn’t really thought of that.

They’re a smuggling business after all, and they need to keep moving to find new clients and avoid capture, but he was really starting to almost settle down in the cargo bay. It was nice to wake up each morning, Ryan usually sitting in the chair by his bed, thumbing through one of the many books in his collection, until he noticed Akmazian was watching and gave a small smile. 

It was beginning to feel almost- a little- like home.

But Akmazian knew they couldn’t stay forever. He had a duty to his crew and his clients, and Ryan would most likely disappear in a few weeks anyway, once he’d served his purpose with Urvidian. There would be no use sticking around once he was gone.

Best to leave before things got messy.

Akmazian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Cricker, tell the crew to start packing. We leave tomorrow.”

\--

Ryan gaped at him. “You’re leaving?”

Nodding, Akmazian said, “We’ve got to get on the road sometime. People to see places to go.” He gives a smile that feels forced. “You know the drill, darlin’.”

“Oh.” Ryan’s voice sounds small, and something twists in Akmazian’s chest. He hesitates.

“You could- you could come with us.” he says haltingly, his hands shaking a little despite himself.

Ryan bites his lip and frowns. “I… I don’t think I could, Akmazian.”

“Why not? You can leave the cargo bay, have you ever tried to leave the station?”

“Yes,” Ryan says tartly, “and I can’t.”

“Why not? Have you really wanted to?”

“Akmazian, I’m held here by what I need to do to move on!”

“Well I need you!”

Akmazian instantly wishes he could take it back, but it’s too late. Ryan stares at him, open mouthed and blinking. Under his gaze, Akmazian wishes the ground would swallow him whole.

Then, Ryan lowers himself to the ground, strides forward, and seizes Akmazian’s face in his hands.

And then he kisses him.

It’s intense and searching, the man and the spirit trying to memorize each part of each other before they’re gone. Akmazian pulls Ryan close, pressing their bodies together and etching the feeling into his memory. He breathes in Ryan’s scent of rain and soft cotton, so uniquely him it hurts. He can feel the slightest hint of tears on Ryan’s face, and he pulls away to kiss his eyelids.

Ryan stares up at him, eyes red and puffy. “I-” he says, and Akmazian kisses him again.

“It’s okay,” he says, “I know.”

“I’ll find a way,” Ryan says determinedly, his eyes sparkling like that first time they met. “I promise.”

\--

Ryan kisses him awake the next morning, an idea on his lips. “You,” he says.

Akmazian raises a sleepy eyebrow, to which Ryan explains, “I felt it, last night. There was this-shift, I think. In my tether.”

“How so?” Akmazian mumbles.

“I think… now, it’s you. You’re what’s holding me to the world. You’re what I’m staying for.”

Akmazian looks away. “I shouldn’t be,” he says. “You should be able to move on when you want.”

Ryan reaches up a hand and cups Akmazian’s face. He smiles tenderly. “But I don’t _want_ to. I want to be here. With you.”

“What about Urvidian? Don’t you still need to take care of him?”

“There’s a nurse who’s pretty close to him: Jane. She walked in on us talking at one point, and I managed to get her on the team. Some deposed prince too, who I think is just in it for the extra exam time, but he’s a good kid deep down. They’ll be fine.”

He smiles, like sunlight, and Akmazian can feel his heart blooming. “So… you’ll stay?”

Ryan threads his fingers through his hand. “Wherever you go, I want to be there. Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> any guesses to how ryan died containing the word "instinct" will not be counted


End file.
